Euphoria
by janebled
Summary: Will's relationship with Hannibal enters a new stage of transformation the night he kills Randall Tier and imagines the Chesapeake Ripper in his place. After more boundaries are irrevocably crossed, Hannibal and Will begin a game form of love-hate: an unrelenting passion that thrills and consumes them. inevitably, one will lose the lust-match; and the other will emerge victorious
1. Chapter 1: Love-All

Hours after killing Randall Tier, Will still felt the high of the thrill he had gleaned from imagining his latest victim was Hannibal Lecter. His body ached and thrummed with the drawn-out tension of the evening. First, he had ended another savage murderer's life; then, he had pulled the wool over the wolf's eyes without tipping him off. The duo of successful events was enough to set his teeth on edge. A reckless curiosity raged inside him. How would it feel to draw nearer still; and insinuate himself deeper inside the belly of the beast?

As he gazed at Randall Tier's horrifically beautiful murder tableau ( _this_ _is my design_ ), Will felt feverish heat radiating off the fiend standing behind him.

"I'm quite proud of you." Hannibal declared. His aberrant joy touched a nerve close to the surface of Will's composure. "You're finally allowing your inner visions to manifest in the outside world."

"I'm merely following my nature, Doctor," Will retorted over his shoulder, "just as you have always advised me to do."

"Try to omit your usual forced indignance from the current scenario. We should celebrate your victory - not bemoan it."

Will grimaced. "What sort of festivities did you have in mind?"

A deep, audible inhale reverberated inside the small space they shared. Hannibal was scenting him again. Will wrinkled his own nose, and wondered what Hannibal smelled on him beneath the blood and gore that clung to him like cologne.

"I can ease the tension in your body if you grant me access to the source."

Hannibal's touch on his shoulder was light; yet made heavy by the innuendo in his suggestion. "Will you permit me to reward you for your accomplishment?"

Will clearly understood what his companion desired: intimacy _._ His pulse skipped a beat, despite the fact that he had been expecting ( _anticipating_ ) this kind of proposition ever since he had almost pulled the trigger on Clark Ingram. Hannibal Lecter's obsession with him was boundless; lacking borders to delineate where discretion became mandatory.

Weeks ago, Will had told himself there were no limits to achieving his ultimate goal of putting The Chesapeake Ripper behind bars. When presented with opportunity to further embed Hannibal's growing belief in him, however, he was a bundle of frayed nerves and unquenched irritation.

He drew in a labored breath; knowing the shrewd surgeon would not miss that telling detail.

"Hannibal," Will warned, "you're intruding."

"Forgive me," Dr. Lecter responded with mock civility. His hand snaked around Will's front. "I was under the impression that you wouldn't mind sharing a moment of mutual appreciation."

Deliberately teasing, his hand hovered over Will's crotch; then lightly brushed the bulge beneath it. "May I indulge you?"

Will's cock swelled. Without thinking, he let his eyes fall shut, and arched into Hannibal's expert touch. A blood-hot burst of arousal spread from the deepest part of him to the most superficial. He heard his own sharp gasp as if from outside himself.

"Lovely." Hannibal applied more force, using the flattest part of his palm to manipulate Will's growing erection. "Let me hear your music again."

The shameful pleasure Will felt in response to his enemy's erotic words and titillating touch was too searing – too nightmarish in its stark reality. Alarmed, he opened his eyes. Randall Tier's mutilated corpse watched him with a knowing smirk. _Is this part of your design?_

Will's impulsive carnality started to retreat. "I can't do this. You can't either," he replied through gritted teeth. Still, he didn't move away: the remorseless creature inside him wanted Hannibal to continue; longed to revel in the debauchery they had conjured together.

He sucked in a too-tight breath of death-drenched air when Hannibal lightly squeezed his arousal; tormenting him with silent implicit glee.

"What we can or cannot do is all a matter of perspective. Will you purposefully narrow yours, just to avoid the implications of unquenchable bloodlust?"

Before he could lose himself to the torpor of pleasure, Will grabbed Hannibal's wrist to still his motions.

"Please don't continue," he said, in a broken whisper that didn't sound like it belonged to him. Heartbeat stuttering, he watched the other man's hand withdraw. Relief and disappointment were one and the same.

Hannibal's disapproval seeped into his usually mild tone. "You would deny your honest desire for achieving a higher state of bliss?"

"I will deny you the pleasure of collecting another head to add to your growing collection of human trophies. "

Still behind him, Hannibal traced his cheek with the flat part of his nails. "If you could see all the way to the root of me, what would you find? A fearful enemy? A conscienceless killer?"

Will shuddered. "You're a monster, but..." He faced his nemesis, not bothering to hide the moroseness he felt. "I understand you."

Hannibal's mouth tightened. "There are yet tracings of loathing in you."

"I can't help but to feel conflicted. You killed Abigail."

"And for that, you hate me."

"I wish I could only hate you."

The Chesapeake Ripper's eyes absorbed all the light in the room, and reflected nothing but darkness in return. "Is hate so close to love?"

"For men like us, perhaps."

Lips drawn into a sneer, Hannibal leaned in, presumably to kiss him.

"Don't," Will warned. With his newly bandaged hand, he covered the other man's mouth; then dropped his hand when he felt the glancing of moist lips along the fleshy part of his palm.

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. "Your body makes a liar of your tongue."

Will's fingers traced the buttons of his shirt. "We can't cross this line."

Hannibal gripped his forearm; stilling his progress. "Why not?"

Will searched his mind for the right words. "There has to be some part of me that's separate from you."

Hannibal cringed. "When two individuals are as alike as we are, an obfuscation of separation becomes the logical outcome."

"You've interfered enough with my boundaries." Will withdrew his appendage from Hannibal's clutches. "Your transgressions are numerous and largely unforgivable."

"Everything I've done has been for your own good."

"Was killing Abigail 'for my own good'?"

Hannibal didn't answer him. Bending down, he pressed his forehead against Will's. "As hard it as it may for you to believe, my actions were born from…emotional attachment."

"What?" Will barely breathed, avoiding eye contact. The possessive tenderness in Hannibal's display of affection rattled his nerves.

"I've never met anyone else like you. I never imagined these feelings of love and friendship would overtake my better judgment." Hannibal allowed his eyes to flicker shut, acutely aware of his own aesthetic appeal. "It's exhilarating."

Will's felt his facade start to shatter. He took a step back and faintly shivered; lacking Hannibal's heat to stave off the museum's mausoleum-like chill.

"You can't just use words to seduce me. I won't be subject to your machinations any—"

"I can use any words I choose to express the depth of my feeling," Hannibal interrupted. He squared his shoulders took a predatory step forward.

"What you feel isn't friendship. It's not love. It's possessiveness," Will argued. He raked his fingers through his tangled hair. "You covet me — my unique gift. I'm a jigsaw puzzle you've been itching to solve. A novelty of epic proportions, the empathy can look unflinchingly into the abyss of humanity's absence."

Hannibal placed his hand in his pocket and fixed his gaze, drawing Will inside his mind with little more than the suggestion of secrets better left untold.

"At certain times when you apply yourself to my perspective, the words that leave your mouth are stunningly accurate. In other circumstances, your psychoanalysis is abysmally amateur."

"Meaning?"

"It is not your place to define my emotions."

"If you cared for my emotions, you would never have taken Abigail away."

Will's voice was hoarse; thick with emotional weakness he had tried in vain to suppress. "If you respected me, you would have never stolen my freedom by framing me for murder. You would have stopped my encephalitis from spreading. But you watched me fall apart. You enjoyed it."

Confirmation of his assessment flickered in Hannibal's eyes.

"You destroyed Jack's trust in me. You turned Alana against me," Will continued, feeling his enragement grow. "Then you lured her into your den of iniquity."

"Have you never pondered the thought the perhaps you needed to fall apart? Perhaps your dismantling was ultimately your salvation."

Hannibal steepled his artist's hands together, and elegantly invaded Will's personal space. "I have always seen greatness in you, Will. Don't hide it - you're so close to becoming the truest version of yourself."

"The true version of me is not the one you imagine me to be."

"Are you quite certain of that? Remember how you felt when you were beating Randall Tier to death," Hannibal reminded him.

"I was beating _you_ to death. I felt so..." Will couldn't voice the rest of his thought - it was too personal.

"Powerful?" Hannibal suggested; applying light pressure to Will's belt buckle.

Will's hand came down hard on top of his. "This can't happen here."

Hannibal leaned forward. "Then where?"

"Nowhere. It can't happen at all." Reflexively, Will flinched. His own words sounded like badly-composed lies.

Hannibal closed his eyes, and Brailled the length of Will's back. At first, Will did nothing, but kept still, allowing the touch; neither encouraging nor responding to it. His heart thrashed inside his chest, but he kept his voice neutral.

"Should I expect you to kiss me, Dr. Lecter?" he intoned without emotion.

"You have already expressed sufficient discomfort over that possibility."

Unseen, Will smiled without his eyes.

Hannibal held him at arm's length. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Shaking his head, Will retorted, "Not this time."

Hannibal couldn't seem to speak. Instead, he gave a curt nod; appearing to be genuinely dismayed by the rebuff, but grudgingly accepting of it.

"Randall Tier's new physique will doubtless make a lasting impression," Will mused. "Jack Crawford will need my insight on this case. He'll ask for your opinion, too."

Hannibal stared at the mutilated corpse. "A likely possibility."

"I'll see you again when the crime scene becomes official," Will smirked. "Goodnight, Doctor."

His footsteps were quick and heavy as he walked away: they effectively masked the pounding of his still-erratic pulse. Will was dismayed to find that his erection was ever present, but that was a problem he could quickly solve on his own - without memorizing the moans he made when he pleasured himself; as Hannibal Lecter would doubtless do, were he the one to administer the panacea.


	2. Chapter 2: Love-15

Each time Hannibal saw Will after the night they had almost added an erotic angle to their partnership, he made sure to tighten his coercive influence. In both mental connection and physical proximity, he pulled his chosen one closer, inch by painstaking inch. A simultaneous comfort and tension between them: they were content to either sit in companionable silence, or murmur their philosophical musings until the wee hours of the morning; but Hannibal entertained no doubt that the vivid memory of their sexual encounter yet persisted in both of their minds. Will's company in itself was stimulating enough to keep his hopeful interest intact. It was never enough, however, to satisfy his licentious curiosity.

Weeks passed, and his would-be inamorato showed no further signs of succumbing to his hidden libidinous appetites. Hannibal often wondered how long it would take Will to find his way back to desiring a deeper exploration of their connection. Fastidiously patient, he nevertheless found the slow progress of his grooming to be borderline tedious (though never dull).

Had Dr. Lecter been the typical besotted fool, he speculated his ego would have deflated little by little, dwindling down into a sulking shadow of its former self; until he either relinquished the chase, or embarrassed himself by coming on too strongly. Hannibal was self-aware enough to gauge that he was farther from ordinary than deep ocean from sunlight. He embraced the challenge the empath presented to him. To climb over Will's crumbling, but concrete-coated walls, he would have to slip by undetected.

As his would-be assassin persisted in withholding physical proof of his mutual attraction, Hannibal nevertheless experienced an uptake in self-confidence. Will remained removed from his lewd clutches by the flimsy pretense of a platonic relationship; stubborn, yet weakening, denial comprised his comfort zone. Ever-scheming, the master manipulator played his hand. He did not doubt his eventual win.

"Do you derive sexual satisfaction from killing?" he asked Will one evening during their therapy session.

Will grimaced. "From the act itself? Not at all. Why, do you?"

"I take spiritual satisfaction in my art," was his vague response.

Will rolled his eyes. "Evasive."

"We're talking about you, not me."

"I'm tired of talking about me."

"I'm not tired of hearing about you."

"You're recording our conversations, aren't you?"

Hannibal frowned, displeased that Will would second-guess him. "I haven't made a record of our conversations for some time."

"Why not?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

"Maybe I do, but I could be wrong."

"Why do you think I stopped?"

"Because you don't want to incriminate yourself. The topics of conversation between us are usually dangerous."

"Are _you_ recording our conversations, Will?"

Shifting in his chair, Will slowly raised his arms. "Do you want to check me for a wire, Doctor?"

As he lowered his arms back to his sides, the lingering brush of hands against thighs didn't go unnoticed. Hannibal's senses alerted him to the fact that Will was struggling to compose himself. "Is something specific on your mind?"

His pretend patient fidgeted in his chair and eked a nervous, self-conscious titter before admitting,"When I was in bed with Margot, I imagined I was...you."

Hannibal's pulse flickered. "You fantasized you were making love to Alana in my place?"

Drawing in a slightly shaky breath, Will said, "I was going through the motions..." He glanced at Hannibal for half a second: long enough to convey his craving. "So were you."

Hannibal felt a potent thrill of power. For a few moments, he had difficulty erasing the smirk from his lips. The satisfaction Will's divulgence brought him was profoundly vulgar in its greed.

He leaned forward, magnetized. "What did you see?"

"Everything. Alana in my arms. You, moving fluidly. Tangling her in your alluring web of deceit."

Rawness scratched the surface of Will's voice. "Apparently, you're an expert in pleasure."

Hannibal pushed him farther. "How did it feel when I was inside her?"

"Like…" Will's eyes clouded over. "Like she was a mask worn by someone else. Her face wasn't the one you saw inside your mind."

"Who was in her place, Will?"

Will folded his arms across his chest. "How long have you been attracted to me?"

Hannibal blinked, almost caught off guard. Pausing minutely, he responded, "I have always found you attractive beyond the realm of ordinary aesthetic appeal." He waited the appropriate amount of beats before rhythmically retorting, "How long have you had been attracted to me?"

Apparently uncomfortable wearing his own skin, Will mustered a gruff reply: "Despite your well-put-together facade, foulness lurks below. You're tainted flesh."

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. Will's choice of insult unsettled him. "Is it my flesh that's tainted, or its foundation?"

"I wouldn't know," Will shrugged. He made deliberate eye contact. "I haven't tried to eat you."

Hannibal beamed at the innuendo. "Was that a course of action you wished to pursue?"

Will bared his teeth. "Not unless I get to kill you first."

With a flash of insight into the gilded cage of Will's rarified mental kingdom, Hannibal surmised the key motivations behind his resistance were pride and fear.

"Do you desire to add the element of physical intimacy to our relationship?"

"What a question," Will scoffed. He shifted more uncomfortably in his chair. Hannibal's keen sense of smell detected the salted mineral scent of sexual excitement. His interest in the outcome of their conversation amplified his own desire to continue what the two of them had begun the night he had sacrificed Randall Tier's life. Will wanted to continue where they had left off, but he was too proud to say it outright.

Hannibal congratulated himself on a premature victory and stood up, aroused by the thought of his own power; impatient to luxuriate in the spoils of Will's foretold defeat. His cock twitched against his thigh, quickly engorging with hot blood.

He took a step closer to where Will sat. "Do you prefer me to take the initiative?"

"Don't you always?" he retorted.

"Most of the time, but only when I'm certain." Hannibal could not prevent excitement from roughening his tone of voice.

Will's eyes were all over him. When he noticed Hannibal's obvious erection, he clenched his jaw.

Unashamed, Hannibal let him look. _See what you do to me?_

As he crept toward Will's chair, he had the sly approach of a lynx stalking its prey. "The tension you feel persists. I can use my considerable knowledge and skills to bring about your body's desired conclusion."

"I don't believe I'd enjoy that." Will's tone was unconvincing - made more obviously disingenuous by his agitated shifting motions.

Hannibal stopped in his tracks, feigning deference. "Then I shan't force you to try."

"But you'll surely try to coerce me."

Will stared off to the side, refusing to look at him, but Hannibal knew he would not resist again after a certain point.

He smirked. "I'm asking for permission this time."

Silence sustained. The longer it stretched between them, the more Hannibal savored it. His mind had already been connected with Will's long enough to merge. This was was the moment just before he would discover what pure empathy tasted like. His mouth watered as he imagined the endless possibilities of flavor profiles.

"Will," he softly requested, "may I touch you?"

When Will finally looked up, Hannibal saw the acceptance in his twilight-tinted eyes. And the hunger.

"I may not enjoy it."

"I'll show you how to enjoy it," Hannibal promised. He swiftly knelt beside Will's chair, reached for his hand, and cradled it suggestively. As he had done on the night they had both killed Randall Tier, Hannibal caressed Will's freshly-scarred knuckles. His heart thrilled at the thought of unveiling Will's carnality. Together, they would burn from the inside out.

Swallowing audibly, Will turned his attention to the floor. "Maybe you're just not the right person for me to enjoy it with."

Hannibal gave him an indulgent smile. "I doubt must express my sincere doubts about that opinion."

He ran his fingers through Will's neatly-combed hair, mussing his curls. Will's breathing sped up and his musky-sweet odor oozed sexual frustration. He bit the tip of his tongue and hissed at the sting.

Hannibal let his eyes soften at the corners. "Sometimes, dear Will..."

The former forensics teacher sighed suggestively at his name, spoken in an undertone of longing. Still, he didn't move.

Hannibal's breath caught in his throat at Will's impressive display of restraint.

"Sometimes I know what you want better than you know yourself," he managed to say.

Will's gaze was a blue blaze of sudden fury. "Is this what I want?"

Angrily, he slammed his mouth onto Hannibal's - more of a snarl uncurling, than the unfurling of a caress. Their noses bumped with eye-watering force, but Hannibal felt unharassed. Fascinated by Will's choice to initiate, he broke their pseudo kiss; ending the awkward assault of clumsy lips and sharp teeth. He admonished his protégé for his sloppy approach with a sharp nip to the jaw. Although Will flinched, he didn't move away. He was fearless.

"I prefer to imbue the experience with more sensuality," Hannibal calmly explained. "There's no need to rush. I've been curious about how it would feel to kiss you for a long time."

Flushed, but no longer furious, Will gripped his shirt sleeves tightly enough to wrinkle them.

"Then stop wondering. Just _do it_."

Hannibal made a small noise of agreement before he swept Will's damp lips into a deep, slow, passionate kiss; turning him pliant and yielding within a matter of moments. In between his self-confident, skilled ministrations and hums of encouragement, Hannibal heard Will's breath catch in his throat. He whined as one quietly suffering.

Hannibal's ever-evolving perspective shifted to reveal his own intense desire, and he shuddered with sensory overload. Here was Will, supple and wriggling against him, holding Hannibal tightly and pressing closer still; possessing and being possessed.

He breathed deeply though his nose. Inhaling the empath's inner frenzy was like taking in air with less oxygen. Hannibal was high on disorientation - grounded by sensation. Ecstatically, he sighed.

 _Will_ was all he knew.

They stood up at the same time: both driven by the desire to feel more friction. Firmly, Hannibal gripped his hips, and pulled them forward. Their cocks brushed. Hannibal swallowed Will's hot, startled gasp and savored the lush taste of his transparent lust.

"Can you feel me here - between your legs?" He took Will's reddened earlobe into his mouth, licking, sucking, slowly undulating his hips; rubbing himself against his muse in a bold display of desire. Will's skin tasted of the light that filters through the trees on late fall afternoons.

 _Beautiful_.

He dipped his tongue into the younger man's aural cavity, mimicking intercourse. "I want to feel every part of you."

"Stop talking," Will panted. He was a shuddering, writhing mess of sexual frustration and sulfurous self-loathing.

Hannibal sensed his desperate curiosity to continue charting the unfamiliar territory of another man's physique. He smirked against Will's too-warm skin. "Would my silence make this unconventional exploration of your sexuality easier to bear?"

"I don't-"

Hannibal's interrupting lips captured Will's moving mouth in a heated display of ownership, muffling his words. His high expectations were exceeded when Will returned the kiss with aggression. Hannibal answered his unspoken request with a quiet grunt of appreciation. Their tongues twisted together, dancing inside the slick confines of limited space. Small sounds of Will's tense pleasure filled the air like a gorgeous symphony. Eager to hear what other music his vocal chords would produce, Hannibal sucked and nibbled Will's bottom lip, coaxing a moan out of the beautiful instrument of his voice box - all the while restraining himself from chewing the succulent flesh to bloody ribbons.

It was everything Hannibal had ever wanted in a kiss with his equal; everything he had never experienced, but had always imagined. The perfection of the moment destroyed his practiced pragmatism, and he had to actively keep spontaneous tears of wonder from staining his cheeks.

With a burst of confidence, Will gripped his forearms and drew him closer. Their lower bodies collided again. Hannibal sensed how achingly hard they both were. The overwhelming promise of erotic release made him feel light-headed and dizzy.

He broke their kiss and tenderly cupped Will's cheek, quivering with joyous satisfaction and profound hunger. _Mine_ , was his singular thought.

Will's eyes darted from side to side as his brain tries to compete with his body. "I don't know how this is happening."

"Then let me make the experience more concrete. I'll teach you," Hannibal promised. Leaning forward, he licked the salt from his friend's stubble-roughened upper lip.

"Teach me what?" Will murmured. His eyes flickered up and Hannibal felt another strong surge of arousal. "How to kiss?"

"That aspect of your tutelage needs no embellishment."

"Thankfully." Will stilled, obviously uncomfortable and unsure of what to do next.

Hannibal smiled at him. "I'll teach you how I give pleasure."

Will winced at his phrasing. "'Give pleasure'?"

"Perhaps you would prefer me to use obscenities. Tell me, Will - would drawing focus to your needy cock put you more at ease?"

Will blushed a fetching shade of scarlet. "Nothing would put me more at ease, other than the absence of reality."

Hannibal ran hands over Will's firm, muscular back. "There is no foreseeable end to my fascination with you."

"You can't..." Will's eyelids fluttered shut. He leaned into Hannibal's caress. "...predict the future."

"But I _can_ predict what will happen if I take matters into my own hands."

Hannibal reached between Will's legs, giving up the pretense of subtle foreplay. Using only the tip of his index finger, he stroked the swollen, khaki-covered flesh. When Will hissed as if wounded, Hannibal purposefully dragged his knuckles across the hard line of his cock.

He arched into Hannibal's touch. "You shouldn't always be in control."

"If you want control, then take it from me," Hannibal urged him. In one fluid, elegant motion, he unbuckled Will's belt, slipped it through the loops on his pants, and tossed it aside with casual flair. "Show me what you would do in my position."

He reveled in Will's legato moan as he deftly unbuttoned the top button of his pants. Hannibal's digits danced along the teeth of the zipper, admiring the sensation of cold metal against straining heat.

Will shuddered delightfully.

With baited breath, Hannibal awaited his partner's next move. He wondered which point of view Will would choose to assume - vicious predator; or voluptuous prey.


	3. Chapter 3: 15-15

Under the shower head's pounding spray, awash with sensation, Will floated in and out of awareness. He did not remember how to turn off his thinking mode: it was ever activated, even during moments of attempted relaxation. Always in high-gear, he used his empathy as a tool to anticipate his enemy's next move. He assessed the situational danger, and analyzed the flaws he found beneath the Chesapeake Ripper's façade.

Personally apprehending the mass murderer who had not only gotten inside his head, but also killed the girl he had originally saved from death, appealed to Will's intrinsic sense of virtue. He reminded himself that at the very least, he would sleep more soundly at night once Hannibal Lecter and his deadly influence were safely caged. Adopting a solely objective stance in his role as the doctor's secret enemy would have been less complicated; but he had chosen to sacrifice himself for the cause. Thus, he continued to ensconce himself within the cracks of the Ripper's human persona whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Will had never expected the rekindling of their friendship to engender within him a bizarre and disturbing affinity ( _codependency_ ) for his confidante-cum-nemesis; though he admitted it was easier to receive and accept the psychiatrist's influence when he made himself emotionally available. His convincing performance brought out Hannibal's hidden vulnerability. Despite the possible payoff, being the lure came with dire consequences, and the side effects - automatic empathy and subsequent beguilement - were debilitating. Unfortunately, Will had not anticipated the depth of his own attraction to danger.

He sighed. Fire-hot water from the shower nozzle sluiced down his chest. It was astringent, though neither unpleasant nor distracting enough to redirect him from reliving the recent past. Vividly, he recalled gripping gelled hair that had lost its stiffness and given way to fine-spun softness.

 _Harsh hands bore down on hard leather; succulent lips sported beads of blood..._

Overwhelmed, Will let a quiet moan slip past his lips. He cursed his eager imagination and overly-detailed memories. Both were a detriment to his mental and physical well-being (not to mention, his sanity). Struggling to ignore the sensory snapshots his ever-active brain used as bait for deviant temptations, Will snatched the bar of soap and worked it into a lather; washing his body with precise, perfunctory movements. The sooner he finished, the more quickly he could hope to distract himself with the platonic comradeship of his dogs.

It was discouraging, how inspired he was to transform the once-normal ritual into an act of erotic commemoration - how the mundane routine of showering had devolved in frank sexual fetishization.

 _Blame Hannibal Lecter._

"I do," he said aloud. All along, Will had suspected it would only be a matter of time before he advanced to the optional next stage in his meticulously-plotted courtship: allowing Hannibal to seduce him, should the occasion present itself. Though lacking the experience fortify his flirtation with same-sex experimentation, Will could not honestly deny his reluctant attraction to his once-trusted therapist. He thought he would have had time to plot - to choreograph each move and remain in control. At one point, he had even wondered if he would need to feign arousal to sustain the ruse.

But the night of Randall Tier's murder, something had shifted - the remaining boundaries between them had weakened when Hannibal tenderly caressed his battered hands, and cleansed his wounds with a reverence that was nothing less than pure adoration. Even after the near-consummation of the sexual tension between them, Will had chalked up his uncharacteristic erection at the carefully-constructed crime scene to a variety of factors: the thrill of the kill, Hannibal's unawareness of his elaborate ruse, and, not least of all, his dearth of sexual partners (save Margot, but that had ended oddly and left him with a curious emptiness in lieu of fleeting fulfillment).

Had his erotically-charged interactions with Hannibal ended at that single event, Will might have been able to move on. But by initiating the prospect of physical intimacy during their most recent therapy session, Dr. Lecter had opened up a trap door inside of Will that he had unwittingly left ajar. The extra floor in the hole of his mind allowed all sorts of nasty, bottom-dwelling thoughts to slither inside his crowded head. Loath to add more, he nevertheless found himself unable ( _unwilling_ ) to fight the strange, shameful attraction he felt to the man-made devil who was cheerfully ushering him toward self-destruction. Perhaps his masochistic tendencies were closer to the surface than he knew, because try as he might, the recurrent imprint of Dr. Lecter's lips appeared on his own like a scar that was all but visible whenever he rubbed his lips; attempting to remove the poker-hot sensation of the devil's branding him with a mark he could not admit to wanting again.

Pressing his forehead against the side of the shower, Will allowed his insistent mind to recall the exact moment in which the tables had turned: the moment he had taken Hannibal's advice, and lost himself to a loathsome desire to abscond the older man's inherent dominance.

 _The more pressure he put on the belt, the more Hannibal thrashed about, face frozen in a macabre rictus of fully-savored pain. Taut biceps tensed against their makeshift bonds. Silver-streaked dark blond bangs brushed against Will's damp skin..._

Lust surged inside him - despicable in its crude, ill-timed presence. His cock thickened; snaking into full-blown tumescence after too short a time. Will had to wonder if his innate self-loathing went so far down as to have permanently wounded him.

His hand slipped between his thighs. As he remembered, he ached.

 _Three days ago..._

* * *

Hannibal unzipped Will's pants with the ease of experience. He slipped his fingers beneath Will's boxers and, _oh_ , it was wonderful and terrible to endure this kind of closeness.

"Show me what you would do in my position."

The doctor's request struck a sour note inside Will's otherwise blissfully astonishing haze of intoxicating arousal. Abruptly, he was back inside his body, instead of surrendering his cock to Abigail's killer. A voice that sounded like Jack's spoke to him: _You're getting too close._

Will drew in a sharp breath. The realization that the Ripper's hands were on him, reaching lower; demonstrating a tightly-coiled desire to covet his desperation and encouraging it to flourish, hit him with distressing force. Disbelief came immediately - he had not wanted to believe he might enjoy this brand of intimacy with a ( _fellow_ ) killer.

"You're so affected," Hannibal murmured. He licked the rim of Will's ear and sighed, "So sensitized."

Breathing heavily, Will touched his lips, plumped from passionate kisses administered by his mortal enemy. Hannibal's digits threaded through his pubic hair and lightly tugged it. He stroked the base of Will's cock with one blunt fingernail. It was too much; it was not nearly enough.

He quivered with conflict.

"Will." Hannibal's ragged whisper jolted his senses: "I want to suck you."

He gasped; loathing the shocked shiver of gratification that further heightened his intense arousal. Reality screamed at him to-

"Stop," Will panted. His resistance to the capriciously inviting caresses had already crossed the threshold of obligatory rejection.

Hannibal stilled his hand motion, but it still hovered perilously close to Will's cock. Beneath heavy-lidded eyes, he watched him closely. "We've only just begun."

"I said, _stop_ ," Will repeated with more conviction. He was still so horny that it hurt. Were they to share another torrid embrace, Will knew that they would not have stopped touching each other until after one or both of them had achieved orgasm.

Hannibal obediently removed his hand. With a look of unmasked reproach, he said, "I was not anticipating that particular reaction."

"You never could entirely predict me," Will could not resist retorting.

The doctor flinched. "What game are we playing now?"

"We're no longer playing this one." Will took a few steps backward, and hastily zipped up his pants - challenging, considering his unrelieved arousal.

"I'm disappointed," Hannibal remarked. His face was expressionless: a startling contrast to the emotional implication of his words. "I thought you were brave enough to face your desire."

"My desire, or yours?" Will sneered. He did his best to ignore the unrelieved ache of sexual frustration. "You have the uncanny ability to project your wants onto others and you're more than convincing. I never wanted this - this parody of romance," he asserted.

"What did you want, Will?" Hannibal patiently inquired.

His hatred bubbled to the surface before he could quell it. "Retribution."

"You still crave it." Hannibal's eyes glittered like onyx in the hell-bright firelight.

"Maybe I've just been spending too much time in the company of intelligent psychopaths. I don't usually…" Will trailed off. He shivered, certain Hannibal's wholehearted enthusiasm for murder had wormed its way inside his safe zone. "I've never experienced these particular urges before."

He looked around for his belt, and spotted it lying on the chair. Agitated, he snatched it up, and walked away from Hannibal; unconsciously putting more distance between himself and the exit.

"Not all of us are born with an equal appreciation for the artistry of annihilation," Hannibal stated. His eyes strayed to the belt clenched in Will's hand. "A man's heart has a mind of its own."

"Or," Will countered, "his heart possesses what his mind refuses to own."

Hannibal understood what Will would not say. The anticipation of indulgence gleamed in his deep-set eyes like the blade of a scythe. "Then allow me to change yours."

Will's mouth went dry. "I think that would be counterproductive to the progression of my therapy."

"Then I shall defer to your better judgement. We wouldn't want to interfere with your progress."

The first tendril of his long-simmering fury unfurled. Sparks of rage the shade of carmine pricked Will like thorns.

"False deference doesn't suit you, Dr. Lecter. It's gaudy." He snapped the blunt end of the belt against the palm of his hand for emphasis. " _Tasteless_."

The molecules shifted between them as the atmosphere grew denser; rife with the possibility of violence.

Hannibal took a predatory step forward. "Choose your words wisely, Will. I have been known to administer punishment to those who seek it through carelessness of speech." Deliberately, he moved his gaze down to Will's crotch. "What's to be done about that?"

The thin air thrummed with tension. Malignant heat persisted in Will's most sensitive parts, leaving him flushed and tingling with unwanted arousal. He could not readily dismiss the somatic effect of Hannibal's calculated innuendo.

"Admit it. We want the same thing." Hannibal closed the distance between them. He cupped Will's chin. "Connection."

"No." Will snapped his chin away from Hannibal's possessive grasp. "We don't."

The doctor quirked his lips. "Are you leading me on, Will?"

"You're so keen to solve the riddle of my mind." Will's voice quavered. "You know what I want, Dr. Lecter? I want to punish you for _every single_ atrocity you've ever committed."

"Understandable, given our turbulent history." Hannibal licked his lips. Tumid, they glistened; glossy with saliva. "You could enact your revenge right now."

Will hated the hot throb of lust that bloomed inside of him when he heard the husky tone of Hannibal's voice. On some level, he wanted this: despite the gravity of his moral conflict, he enjoyed the Chesapeake Ripper's invasion of his mind. During unguarded moments, he reveled in his shadow side.

"I don't need your _encouragement_ ," he jeered. "I'm not seeking your approval."

He did not miss how Hannibal's eyes, dark with purpose, returned to the belt in his hand.

"Taking charge of your id's fantasies would strengthen your sense of power. Words without action are inherently weak."

"What else do you want from me?" Will demanded. "Say what you mean."

Hannibal gave him a knowing look. "I've already told you."

A chasm of sudden need opened inside him, but it was not his alone. Hannibal's desire had infiltrated the once-sacred sanctum of his confidential cerebral chambers. The inner voice he heard was a wet whisper that stroked his mind with skillful sweetness. _Dear Will, I want to worship you._

Shivers enveloped the base of his spine and spread warmth up his back. He was still hard; needy; as desirous of the infamy Hannibal's touch would bring against his very existence. Still conflicted - still wanting. Darkness spread through him like a poison. He was _righteous_ in his indignation. The devil would pay.

"Lecter," Will hissed. He gripped the belt so hard, it left marks in his palms that would last through the night. "You fucking _cocksucker_."

Hannibal's mouth fell upon his and he forgot to how to breathe. Fierce and hungry, their lips clashed and fought and fed their hunger, but Will could not bring himself to drop his belt. It would have felt like surrender. Hannibal guided him backward, unbuttoning his shirt, with quick ministrations. When he go to the fifth button, Will grabbed his wrist with his free hand.

"Enough," he hissed.

Hannibal nipped his earlobe. "If you insist." Still fully dressed, he slipped Will's shirt free of his pants. He stroked the fabric, deliberately teasing. After a moment that seemed to last infinitely, he made a soft sound of pleasure and swept his fingertips beneath the shirt, across the flat plane of Will's abdomen.

Hannibal visibly swallowed, and licked his lips again. "You are a rare find."

"Tell me something I don't already know."

Chuckling, Hannibal nosed his neck. "Ah, confidence," he sighed, inhaling over the spot where Will's jugular would be. "Much sweeter than doubt."

The backs of Will's knees touched something firm, yet yielding. Torpidly, he realized it was the cushion of the chaise longue. No matter - he was drowning in Dr. Lecter's heady cologne; joined at the lips to lend each other breath. His beard scraped against Hannibal's day-old stubble and he loathed the feeling; then wanted it again, just to torture himself. Just to feel it all again ( _It feels so goddamned good_ ). Will wanted to fuck; he wanted to kill.

Suddenly, Hannibal forced him down; pressing him flat into the back of the chaise longue. The psychiatrist's steely strength was both surprising and expected; Will struggled against him. The sharp bones in their bodies collided with bruising force. Fear pulsed through all the vessels in Will's abdomen and traveled south. An extravagant moan threatened to tip him over the precipice of decency when Hannibal licked a teasing trail from the left corner of his mouth to the hollow, heaving space between his clavicles.

"Please, Will," Hannibal said against his skin, "let me savor you."

The Chesapeake Ripper was purposefully testing his limits.

Will squeezed his eyes shut. "I told you earlier to stop talking, and I meant it."

"If you wish to silence me, you'll have to take action."

The frayed elastic holding the rational side of Will's mind together snapped. He blinked and his vision went red. Using the momentum of his body, he nimbly switched their positions so that he was top, and Hannibal was beneath him. He pushed down on the doctor's hips and roughly straddled him - much like he had Randall Tier in their final climactic moments of hunter versus hunted. In his right hand, he brandished the belt.

Hannibal gave it a lingering glance. Nodding almost imperceptibly in agreement, he brought his hands up to rest on either side of his head, palms open - the classic pose of a supplicant. "I won't struggle."

Hearing those words made up Will's mind. Quickly, he stretched both ends as far as they would go and lined up the center of the belt with Hannibal's mouth.

"Open wide," he ordered.

Hannibal's breath hitched in his throat and he obeyed. Will brought the center of the belt over his parted lips and pressed down, creating a makeshift gag. With the ends of the belt, he pinned the doctor's wrists flat, and applied enough pressure to imitate forceful bondage. Motionless, the psychiatrist watched him with an amused curiosity that only encouraged Will's ire. He pressed down on the belt as forcefully as he would allow himself; knowing that Hannibal would not try to escape. They both wanted this.

Will's heavy cock begged him to free it from his constrictive clothes, but he ignored it; instead choosing to derive profane satisfaction from the involuntary tears dripping from the corners of Hannibal's eyes onto the chaise. Impetuously, Will darted his tongue out to catch the next briny bead that escaped. It tasted full on his tongue; brackish and briny, like the ocean during red tide.

In a muffled moan, Hannibal said something that sounded like his name.

"Shut up," Will grunted.

The doctor's eyes darkened at his brazen rudeness. Will was angry to see traces of a smirk turning up the puffy corners of his mouth unhidden by the belt. Clearly, Hannibal Lecter was in his element.

Will gritted his teeth. "You're not in control."

Hannibal eyed him critically, despite his vulnerable posture. _Are you quite certain?_ he seemed to mock. His eyes danced, giddy with amusement.

"Are you _taunting_ me?" the empath growled.

"Mm," the Ripper hummed against the restraint in his mouth.

Will unleashed his rage. The inky blackness of anger overtook him like the familiarity of a recurrent nightmare. When dark voices spoke to his impulses, he let them wash over him. Shifting his hips, he rocked forward against an answering hardness. Hannibal matched his motions thrust-for-thrust. They frotted at a frenzied pace while Will held him down with his belt. They found a jagged rhythm. It brought madness to Will's soul.

"You stole my sanity..." he shuddered in pleasure-pain at the irritating slide of Hannibal's erect cock against his own; both of them straining and desperate. "My freedom..." his biceps bulged with the force of keeping the belt in place. "My legacy." He scraped his teeth against the damp leather between them.

"Hannibal," Will fumed, "I should _hate_ you."

The doctor's eyes glistened. Will had only told a half-truth.

 _And he knows it. Because he knows_ me _._

Their pelvic bones grated together, and the discomfort was just enough to heighten Will's electric arousal. Obscenities spilled forth from Will's lips like prayers. "Bastard," he grunted, tasting the greasy cheap crudeness of the slur. "Fucking murderer."

Sweat trickled down Will's neck. He pushed on the belt harder, yet met with no resistance. Every hurt he inflicted was met with acceptance - with love. Hannibal moaned like he was begging, bucking against him in a blur - searching for the perfect slide of their cocks to create divine friction that would ease into ecstasy. Like a vortex, maroon-tinted eyes drew Will inside them; until he could see only the ebony splendor of pure conscienceless freedom. And he wanted it; _yearned_ for it. Delirious with power, Will was helpless to fight his urges. He felt dirty and vulgar and free and-

 _Alive._

They rutted faster, a crescendo of motion and bodies blurring together. Rocking back and forth against Hannibal's cock, Will sensed both of them were fast approaching climax. Without thinking, he removed his right hand from the belt and the doctor's wrist. He reached between his legs and squeezed the tip of Hannibal's arousal through his trousers in order to delay his orgasm. Hannibal's length twitched. With his thumb and index finger, Will pinched the glans, applying more pressure.

 _I'll tell you when you can cum_ , he thought in an inner voice that wasn't entirely his own. _If I let you cum at all._

His right hand freed of the belt, Hannibal jerked his head too quickly for Will to react.

"Remarkable boy."

With athletic grace, the serial killer snaked his torso upward. Grabbing the nape of Will's neck, he kissed him hard on the mouth.

Will keened. Hannibal's slick tongue spoke to his his cock in a way that brought him closer to release. His breathing stuttered; power-high cut short. Enraged that the Ripper had cheated his way out of submission, Will snarled and bit down on Hannibal's bottom lip. Instantly, his taste buds were awash in the the full-bodied, coppery taste of blood. Dr. Lecter's pupils dilated until the normal red glint in his dark eyes was snuffed out by undiluted blackness. Will despaired at the debauched savagery he discovered there.

Rapidly pumping his hips, the empath worked himself into a frenzy. He squeezed the tip of Hannibal's erection again. They exchanged careless, frantic kisses; both nearing completion.

"Will," Hannibal whispered, "I'm close."

Will released the other side of the belt. He grabbed Hannibal's hair and pulled it in warning. "Not yet."

Rocking into Will's palm, Hannibal willfully ignored him; moments later throwing his head back, gasping in the throes of his sudden, forceful climax. Will hyperventilated. Just that hint of searing wetness against the crotch of his pants was enough to send him over the edge. Suddenly, his orgasm was upon him, vicious; as if the Ripper had wrenched it free. His muscles jerked involuntarily at the force of his near-agonizing release. He cried out once, and then fell against Hannibal, exhausted. Their foreheads smacked together with a sickening sound. Black and red crowded his vision, and he saw stars.

His state of awareness rapidly evolved from a hazy daze of fulfillment to the dull twinge of receding anger. Hannibal's labored breath brushed Will's cheek, and he loathed how personal it felt. _How intimate._ Uncomfortable, he sat up on his heels and glared at his non-quite conquest. A sudden queasiness beset him.

"You weren't supposed to win," Will insisted. A feeling of defeat weighed heavily on him and he fumbled as he slipped his belt through the loops of his cum-soiled khakis.

Leisurely, Hannibal sat up. He brushed the creases out of his trousers and lapped the blood from the corners of his mouth. "I believe that technically, this round goes to you." His eyes sparkled with satisfaction. "Though one could argue that both of us won in equal measure."

Standing up, Will did his best to hide his shaking knees. "Time's up, Doctor." He nodded at the clock. "Our session is over."

Hannibal wiped his mouth on his hand. It came away smeared with blood and saliva. "Feeling regretful?"

"I'm pretty sure you know the answer to that." A headache stirred inside his skull.

Hannibal nodded. He shuttered his gaze so that Will could not see past the bars he had enacted to hide his genuine emotion. "When you reflect on this incident, and replay it in your mind with the obsessive nature of your brilliantly imaginative mind..." he paused, making deliberate eye contact. "You will come unhinged, but only temporarily."

"It's difficult to imagine I could sink any lower into the depths of depravity," Will muttered. He located his keys and wallet lying on the floor.

Hannibal peered at him. "In what part of your inner self does our relationship exist?"

Will paused before responding; relishing the fleeting anxiety that ghosted Hannibal's expression before he reigned it back inside the arena of his control. "Our relationship exists outside of reality. Easily accessible, but lacking ease of access."

Hannibal looked at him without a trace of discernible emotion. He wore his mask well. "How do you feel, Will?"

After a moment of reflection, Will replied, "Deleterious."

"To whom?" Dr. Lecter sounded intrigued.

Will swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "Myself."

The Ripper's regard was pitiless: "Therein lies the rub."

* * *

Will masturbated hard and fast - until his straining thighs gave way to gravity and sent him to the floor of the shower. Too enmeshed in the intensity of his fantasy, he squeezed his eyes shut and picked up the pace, working himself up and down; making sure to twist his wrist as he gripped the head of his shaft. Sparks shot through the root of his spine to the base of his skull. Panting, he worked a hand under his balls; and pressed two fingers against his taint.

He imagined he felt the Wendigo's fetid breath on his flesh, its mouth wet with coppery blood; inhuman eyes encouraging him, _Yesss, that's how you do it, just a little moe force._ The creature understood he needed only a nudge to reach the other side of darkness; and transform his murderous urges into masterpieces.

 _Will_ , the Wendigo moaned in Hannibal's voice, _Let me savor you._

He shoved his dripping erection inside the monster's gaping maw until he felt the back of its throat. Blood leaked from the corners of its black-and-blue mouth; adding a sticky friction to the saliva.

 _What do I taste like_? Will asked, in separate part of his mind untouched by the need for retribution. He was perilously curious.

Inside the creature's phantom voice was a blood-slickened smile: _You taste like mine_.

He felt intense pressure in his chest and he looked down. The Wendigo held Will's excavated heart between his teeth.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Will stroked his perineum harder as he reached his peak. Spurts of semen jetted out of his cock before his subconscious could catch up with time. Goosebumps dotted his flesh as he shuddered through the end of his orgasm. Panting, he jerked himself a few more times to coax out the last few viscous drops. He dazedly opened his eyes. Pearlescent essence lacquered the shower wall; forming visually-pleasing patterns until the spray washed them away. The now-lukewarm temperature of the water brought him back to earth. As he reached out to usher the remaining evidence of his actions down the drain, he trembled.

 _If I get too close..._

Understanding that the worst part of his predicament was that he could not promise himself he would not seduce Hannibal Lecter again, Will did not allow himself to finish his thought. He had long ago acquired a taste for darkness, but _this_ \- this was an ignominious craving; a sordid attempt to reclaim the euphoria of a tryst he had shared with the Devil. He held his face in his hands, panting. Appallingly, he was excited about the inevitability of their next encounter.

 _Therein lies the rub._

Will's self-deprecatory laughter was more bitter than his self-hatred.


End file.
